The Sessions
by savvytruffle
Summary: Not a wizard. As harry is taken to a mental hospital he learns his schitzophrenic state of mind. After a horrid session, he believes. Little does he know that this was exactly planned by Lord Voldemort and his followers. Many become corrupted by fear.
1. Prologue: Aftermath

**Author's Note:** for months I've been trying to come up with a good Harry Potter fanfic plot. And erm, sorry if this offends anyone in anyway. This is just the prologue (v.short) so the chapters will be longer. 

**~The Session~**

Prologue: Aftermath 

"Hagrid," he had once said, quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard."

How many times he dreamt about waking up, frantically looking about for the comfort of his Firebolt, his books, his wand, anything that would assure him of the wizarding world he loved, _belonged._ How many times he doubted his presence in Hogwarts but saved by Professor Dumbledore's extreme patience and the support of his two best friends, Hermoine Granger and Ron Weasley. How many times he ran his hands lightly, almost gingerly over his scar to be reminded of his past and present, all intertwined with the future. The future he wanted. The future _they_ wanted.

But all that is irrelevant now, he thought bitterly, grinding his molars together, a habit developed whilst living here in this strange place. No friends to care for. No Hogwarts to belong. No familiar sound of Hagrid pounding on his prefect door. All gone. He felt sad. Forlorn. And most of all, _betrayed_. 

He remembered his struggle with his words, cursing, spitting –yes, spitting viciously, aggressively at the people who dared to suggest the world he knew was unreal.

He was no longer aggressive, but as expected, submissive. As he sat hunched on the low-rise stiff white seat, he knew, _knew_ they were all but a delusion in his mind. 

His _unstable and delusional mind. _He breathed the acknowledgement of truth in and out as he remembered the exact words of the man who had sat in the seat across the small white table. 

_"You're not a wizard, Harry."_


	2. Loose Ends

**Author's Note: **this all might seem a bit loose ended, but I hope I'll be able to explain in thoroughly. Please review!

**~The Session~******

Chapter 2: Loose Ends 

"What do you mean The-Boy-Who-Lived disappeared?" Cornelius Fudge brought his fist down on the mahogany desk. 

"That' right, Sir," stuttered a messenger from one of the lower offices, "We attempted to reach him by owl and… um… _post mail_ as you requested, but we received no hint of a reply." The boy paused before saying _post mail_, a word unfamiliar to his tongue.

Fudge tried to hide his panic as he slowly articulated his word, "I want every man and woman here that knows common knowledge of muggles to FIND THAT BOY!" Spit was flying out of the respected man's mouth as he gone from red to purple. If it were not a situation involving him, the messenger would have laughed. However the situation was less than comical. He have been hearing whispers of an unspoken source of evil, people eyeing people suspiciously, mothers keeping their children inside their house at all times. The halls of the Ministry of Magic decked with complaints and situations to be properly taken care of. 

"Yes, Sir," the boy quickly replied before being dismissed. 

Almost as if you-know-who was back again, he joked, remembering the stories his granddad had told him when he was little. 

* * * *

"You say the boy followed through," Lord Voldemort mused. He did not think the boy who defeated him, the most powerful man on Earth, would surrender to a bunch of mosh-poshs wearing white coats. Memory of bribing the meeklings flooded his photographic brain. He shuddered, thinking the crime he has committed to bribing _muggles_ for assistance. 

"Yesss, Master," hissed unhumanly the cloaked one. Voldemort waved his hand as if to swat an annoying gnat, a signal of command of exit. 

_See how much I gave up for you? I would give all my power to you, if only you would succeed me. _Lord Voldemort whispered out loud ass the hooded creature left. _See the lowness I have stooped to, bribing muggles… all to kill you_. _Because you're just too good for the poor old man you've defeated 3 times. _

He laughed cruelly and shrewdly, his hallow voice echoing within the dim hallway to his throne.

_Seventeen years I have waited. Seventeen years I have shamed. Seventeen years I have suffered. _

_You will pay, my nephew._

 * * * *

Harry trusted everything she said. The woman in white always bore dark, murky blue fingernails. Her voice hypnotized him. Her smile mesmerized him. 

He doesn't recall anymore the exact day he gave in to medical treatment. But everyday he waited for her to arrive. He believed every word that ever grazed upon her lips.

He did not ask for her name, neither did he utter a syllable to her. He would always look into her deep grey eyes and _know_ that she was his savior. The only thing on the planet that he knew with a determination was real. 

She spoke frequently, though. About the weather, what an awful day she had. But always, at the end, she would say something positive to him. And he would always listen. Always gaze into her eyes and trust her. _She,_ he thought, _would never betray me. _

* * * *

Naomia Harrison sighed in relief as she carefully walked out of the room, strutting the same pace she have used for the past 13 days. 

_Damn the top authorities who assigned her to do this._

That man, or rather, boy, always haunted her. The way he never talked. Never conveyed any emotion. Just sat there.

And watched her. 

That was the only time she sensed his deep feelings, locked in a door of broken memories. When he stared into her soul.

True. Many psychiatric patients showed the symptoms, but something about that boy…

She shivered and wondered who he was. Of course she have done some research of her own, but the only thing she got out of it was his name: Henry Fooper. Nothing more.

Naomia laughed trilly, thinking, _I sound more like the raven more everyday I go to room 9._

130 miles east, the Lord's eyes flamed with desire to kill as he shrieked the words that would end the boy's life.

How he wished it were Him he was killing. But this will just have to do. Better one than nothing. 

A sharp ray of green light split into the dark night. The man neither flinched nor blinked. But he did not feel the thrill he used to have. He knew why, and what he must do. And knew that he could not trust anyone with the plan. Not even himself. And must therefore not look into himself to discover his locked up secrets.

* * * *

"But Professor," protested Fudge as he stood pacing before Headmaster Dumbledore. 

"Cornelius. Say no more," said Dumbledore quietly but with perhaps equal power as Lord Voldemort. "Sit down, and have a chocolate frog before you faint from anxiety."

Cornelius Fudge's jaw magically unhinged itself and took a plunge 2 feet towards the ground. He knew Dumbledore was a pacient and skilled wizard, but at a time like this? When You-Know-Who was spotted several times mingling with the muggles he hated most? When his personal messenger –he remember the boy fondly though he was hard on him- turn up dead 2 days after his mission was assigned? For a second, he doubted the respected man before him, wondering if he had cracked after all, but quickly dismissed it. He must remain loyal and true, for he knew, Dumbledore is the only wizard Lord Voldemort fears. Just like everyone said. If he wanted to survive, stick to Dumbledore. With that, he started dwindling his thumbs unconsciously, that way, he'll be on the good side _and _alive. 

Meanwhile, Professor Dumbledore stared silently at Cornelius Fudge, who seemed to be having an argument with himself. He sniffed softly with a hint of amusement as he continued watching Fudge debating. 

* * * *

"Dracius Malfoy!" Lord Voldemort vacant voice rang out eerily down the corridor. It had been 1 month since he had done the energy-consuming act, proving to himself that he had truly came back to power. It was the Bounding of Lucius and Draco Malfoy. The Bounding potion took him many hours to brood and the words many days to memorize. But at last, he chose a half-moon night, and bounded the father and son into a single entity: his most trusted servant. 

That is, until Cornelius Fudge stepped into the line.


	3. Betrayal

~Author's Note: This is a dark fic. Fans of Harry can easily dislike the content. Be warned. Right then. That's over with. Do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling has my respect. Betrayal 

"But Master, look at him. He does not have the will to becoming one of us!" Dracius exclaimed in persuasion, making the mistake of challenging Voldemort's authority. 

"Silence!" Lord Voldemort bellowed, hands white and face red with unmistakable fury. Never had he been insulted like this. Of being wrong in choosing his own fleet of Deatheaters. "I should kill you, Dracius." He said as he fingered his wand and continued dryly, "But seeing as you have been faithful to me since the day you came, I will make this exception. Do not make it a habit. It is not often you will get such special treatment." Said Voldemort so coldly the dungeon-like room suddenly dropped 10 degrees. 

Dracius realized his mistake, but the harm had already been done. By doubting Master, he was no longer Trusted. Despair fell around him, encircling his shivering bodice. He walked to his living quarters, an icy drop of tear slid down his cheek. 

_No. No matter what, I will never betray my master._

Cornelius Fudge stood firm, bowing his head slightly. His lips curled upward in an odd angle and an unnatural smile splayed upon his pale face. It widened as he saw from the corners of his eyes the combined person of Draco and Lucius Malfoy angrily stomping off. 

"So." Voldemort stated, a sense of dark sarcasm filling his tone, "You would like to become a Deatheater."

The sentence hung in the air, waiting for its response. Head still bowed, Fudge nodded solemnly. 

"Why." He said in a tone more of a command than a question.

A thousand lies ran through the ex-Minister of Magic's brain. It had taken him 2 days to work up the courage to seek the Deatheaters and their lair, another day to think of the possible questions and carefully choose his answers. However, now that he was actually here, he had nothing to say. 

Voldemort saw right away the hesitation and warned, "I can kill you right now. But I won't. You see, I believe in second chances, despite what you might hear from others. Do not attempt to lie to me. However I will not use any potions or spells to make you tell the absolute truth. That is a process I do not go through, for I believe for you to trust me I must first make the impression that I trust you. Or otherwise the bond will be broken and I then must kill you."

Cornelius blinked under his forelock of hair. He was too scared to lie, and knew that somehow You-Know-Who would tell whether he was telling the truth or not. It would be the safest and wisest choice. 

_I _will_ survive,_ Fudge mutely told himself before pouring his heart out to his new Master. His guide. Guidance to living.

"You say you ridded Severus?" Lord Voldemort suddenly quipped, leaning forward in a swift motion.

"Yes, Master. I did." Fudge said mechanically, "How surprised he was too. You should have seen his face."

"At last we rid ourselves of that traitor."

From that day on, Cornelius Fudge became the faithful servant of Lord Voldemort. 

* * * *

"Fudge did what!" Arthur Weasley exclaimed, fearing his ears have finally failed him at the age of 60. 

Percy shuffled his feet before repeating, "He joined You-Know-Who."

Arthur Weasley ran his hands through his thinning grey hair, addressing his son slowly, "You're telling me Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, became a Deatheater."

His son nodded, "And You-Know-Who's right hand."

"FOOL!" Shouted Mr. Weasley, a vein on the right side of his neck straining against his lightly speckled skin. 

There was an awkward silence, then Percy asked softly, "What do we do, Father?"

His expression grim, the elder man said, "To Dumbledore at once."

* * * *

_harry potter, The Boy Who Lived. No. Harry Potter, the boy who lived. _

Harry contemplated which was better. Emphasizing on his name or his most widely known label. 

_But they only know my name _because_ I am The Boy Who Lived._

Without hesitation, Harry took the pen by his right hand and encrypted the words _The Boy Who Lived Dies_ on the flesh of his left arm. He was not sick. He did not _need_ to feel his pain. He was merely bored with nothing to do. So why not write on his arm? It'll be just like getting a tattoo. 

But he hated facial and body paintings in Hogwarts.

_Well. I'm not _in_ Hogwarts, am I Harry?_

The little of his mind that still loved the wizarding world cried, _Stop with this nonsense, Harry. They're tricking you._

_My name is not Harry. My name is Harold Potter. _

Harry heard the door jingle and quickly wiped the pen on the underside of his pillow, pulling his sleeve over the words. 

Today would be the day. The day he will speak to Her.

The door opened and speedily Harry said the words, "I love you."

But as the white-coated person stepped inside the room, he did not see the dark blue polish on her fingernails. Did not see her confident grey eyes. Instead, he saw flashy pink and piercing blue. 

This was not Her. This was not the woman he loved. 

"What have you done to her?" He heard himself say. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Fooper?" 

His annoyance turned to irritation as he desperately graveled the other woman where She was. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fooper. But she had been pulled to another patient."

_No. _Irritation turned to utmost rage. In frustration, he shouted words of wandless magic. Within seconds, the woman standing crumpled in a heap on the floor. 

Harry shooked his head and swiftly made his way down the hall of white, the soft padding of his slippers echoing down the hall. For the first time in his life, he found something as thrilling as riding his Firebolt. 

_If I do this _on_ my Firebolt… _his thought trailed off as he smiled happily for the first time in a month. 

* * * *

"It's happened, hasn't it?" Dumbledore asked, nose twitching slightly. Arthur Weasley meekly nodded his head and collapsed into a nearby chair. 

"You mean you've seen it coming?"

"Yes, yes. I have. Though I regret fully to have not talked to him about it. The possibility of fear corrupting poor Cornelius stayed inside my mind but I was convinced he would right himself in the end."

Arthur nodded, sighing. 

"So it is true, then. Lord Voldemort have came back to power."

Mr. Weasley looked embarrassed to say the next words, "And Harry isn't here."

"Indeed."

* * * *

Harry did not fear Voldemort, but hated him. Hated him because he killed his mother and father. Hated him because he killed those who were not purebloods. 

He hated that fascias bastard. 

Why do they hate people who are not like themselves? He must end their injustice. He must seek revenge. 

Some purebloods hated Hermoine. Well, some of them don't. Like Ron. Or does he in secret? 

No. Purebloods could not be trusted. They filled him an urge to defecate. He will kill them, and rid of the fascias views of their hated soul. 

Harry knew it was wrong to kill. But this, _this_ task was appointed to him. Besides, he thought, _I will be doing something Voldemort wouldn't want me to do. I will prove to the rest of the world that I will never be like Voldemort. I will be the winner. I will always be the winner. _

For that is why he was, _is_ The Boy Who Lived, is it not?


	4. Pure Blood Shed

~Author's Note~ Oh dear. What has Harry done now? Do not own anything of JK Rowling, and no disrespect is meant for Harry Potter. Chapter is a bit sappy towards the end (i.e crying, sobbing, wailing in pain of loss). So read at your own caution. Chapter 3: Pure Blood Shed 

"Harry! Bloody hell, where have you been mate?" Ronald Weasley exclaimed, glomping his old friend on the back. 

"Ron."

At the alienated sound of his name, Ron drew back. That wasn't the tone he had expected. In fact, it was disturbing, almost a hiss. "Harry, what's the matter? Is something wron- Merlin Almighty! You've got blood on your shirt. Quick, come inside and Ginny will heal it for you. She has become quite a healer in such a short time, too."

"Did she now." He might as well play along until the time is right.

"Yes, in fact, she can reverse many spells and potions!" Ron went on excitedly. 

This was quite enough of cheery talk, Harry decided, "Can she reverse the Avada Kedavra?"

Ron stopped dead in his tracks, searching Harry's face for any hint of humour. "Harry, are you-?"

"Ron," Harry cut him off, "you like attention, don't you? In fact, you crave attention from your family, don't you?"

Silence.

"I can give you that attention." 

Ron blinked so violently he thought his lashes would fly off. What was Harry suggesting? Surely not…? 

"Harry. Are you suggesting we have sex together?" 

Harry laughed. Hollow, empty, devoid of emotion. 

"No. I mean this." With that he raised the wand hidden in his shirt, flicked his wand, and muttered the two words. A flash of green light and Ron fell with a plump on the hard wood floor. 

The noise must have been loud, for a door opened beyond the stairs and out stepped Hermoine Granger. Her face shone happily as she saw Harry, but as her eyes traveled to his wand and Ron's unmoving form, she screamed. A wailing, petrified shriek of terror and disbelieve. 

Harry's vacant expression immediately melted into a bright blank smile. Hermoine slooked at him once more and stumbled back, fear written across her stricken face. 

"H-Harry?" She said in a small voice barely above a whisper.

"Hello, Hermoine."

"W-w-why?"

"He hated you, Hermoine. He's a Pureblood. All Purebloods hate Mudbloods. They're cunning. And I destroyed him for you. Aren't you glad?"

Hermoine, with a bewildered look, whispered again, "Of course he didn't hate me! Harry-"

"He did."  
  
"No! He told me earlier today that… that.. that he l-loved m-me!"

Harry scoffed, "Ha! Loved you. Purebloods are not capable of love. All they are is hate. Let us clean this world of Purebloods, so we can rid ourselves of the hatred emitted by their foul smelling bodies." He extended a hand to help Hermoine up. But she didn't take it. Instead, she drew her hand away, got up, and shook him angrily.

"Harry, snap out of it! You've just killed your best friend! K-killed him with the A-Avada Kedevra curse! What were you thinking?" She broke off, sobbing.

"Hermoine, I was only-"  
  
"-How _could you_?" She whispered harshly and coarsely, arms protectively holding the still body of Ron. 

"I thought you would be happy. I-" Harry broke off. 

"He was your best mate, Harry!" Hermoine spat between her tears.

Harry blinked, and for a moment, there was a flicker in his eyes. A small pebble of thought rose within his brain, but he quickly dismissed it. If Hermoine wasn't going to appreciate what he had done for her, let her be. Soon she will realize, as he had.


End file.
